Logan's Trip North
by Shauna Lee
Summary: Chapter 3 is up. Thanks to those of you who reviewed, and thanks for your patience. When Logan goes North to investigate the link to his past, there's someone already there. Takes place directly after the movie. Please R/R
1. Default Chapter

A/N: Just a short scene based on a dream I had after seeing the X-Men movie. I never got around to posting it before, but several people have encouraged me to share it, so here it is. Takes place directly after the movie, when Logan heads back up North to see what he can find out about his past. Please review and let me know what you think, because I am still debating about following up on this one. Most of what I write is Witchblade fic, and my background on the X-Men is pretty much limited to cartoons in the late 70's and the recent movie. I apologize if I screw up any of the important details.  
  
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Caitlin fought her way up the hill against the fierce wind of a snowstorm, finally gaining the sanctuary of the old military complex walls. Abandoned several decades ago after some scientific experiment went horribly wrong, or so the rumor ran, it was now her home. No one ever came here. It was too far for the kids to come, and there was nothing of interest left for anyone else. She was completely alone, and that suited her just fine.  
  
She worked her way around by feel to the door of the barracks, slipping inside and reaching for her lantern and lighter. There were no windows, and without the lantern the darkness was absolute. She made her way to the galley and fished out her bottle of aspirin, taking 3 tablets with a can of soda. Trips into town always made her head ache horribly. Exhausted, she tossed her coat off to the side and slipped into her bed. She took a last look around her makeshift apartment, then drifted off to sleep.  
  
Something pushed at her sleep-fogged brain, prodding her into wakefulness. She couldn't figure out what had awakened her for a moment, so she held absolutely still until she identified the cause: someone was outside her door. She slipped out of bed silently, wondering what could possibly have drawn someone out here in the middle of a storm to prowl around this old abandoned base. Whoever it was had very powerful curiosity. She slipped behind the door to the galley, hoping that whoever was out there would just take a quick look around the base and leave.  
  
The outer door opened on the storm, then closed again, as she realized to her horror that she had been so tired when she came in she hadn't thrown the bolt. She could hear breathing, more like sniffing, and wondered if the intruder had a cold. Something metallic-sounding, kind of like a knife being unsheathed, echoed eerily in the silence, and she began to panic. She wasn't capable of dealing with an armed intruder. Footsteps came closer to where she hid and she held her breath. In the dim light from her lantern she could see a shadow on the floor. The intruder was right on the other side of the door now.  
  
Suddenly the door jerked away, revealing the shadowed shape of a man and the glint of something sharp and metal in his hand. She threw up her hands to ward off the weapon with a scream of utter terror, and the intruder slammed into the wall across the room behind him as if picked up and thrown by an invisible hand. Her vision went white for a second, like lightning, then faded back to normal, leaving her with a ringing in her ears and another splitting headache. The man slumped unconscious on the floor across from her.  
  
"Oh, God," she whispered. "Not again." Then louder, "Mister, are you okay? Can you hear me?" She didn't see his weapon anywhere, so she went and knelt by his side, shaking his shoulder gently. "Mister, please wake up."  
  
His eyes snapped open, then in a whirlwind blur of movement he had her flat on her back on the concrete floor, his one hand gripping her shirt front, and the other had somehow sprouted long wicked-looking blades from between his knuckles, one on either side of her neck and one sharp point right in the hollow of her throat. His piercing green eyes were maddened, teeth bared in a snarl, dark hair wild. She had no doubt that he was going to kill her, and fear was replaced by despair so strong it nearly choked her, and something akin to relief. Caitlin let her head fall back to the hard floor, her gaze still trapped by his crazed eyes, waiting for the end. But his gaze wavered, sanity returning to his expression. He pulled his blades back into his hand with that same metallic sound she had heard earlier and let go of her shirt. His expression changed again into one of hopelessness, and she realized he was feeling her emotions. With a curse she sat up, took a deep breath and centered herself, letting her fear ebb, her despair fade, and his expression became more normal as she stopped affecting him.  
  
"What the hell did you do to me," he snarled, glaring at her.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said, sounding as if she were about to cry. "I can't control it all the time."  
  
"Well, learn," he snapped.  
  
"There's no one to teach me," she cried, frustration making her shout at him. "Do you think I haven't tried? Why the hell would I be all the way up here otherwise?"  
  
"What is that you've got, anyway?"  
  
"Projective Empathy," she told him wearily, rubbing her aching forehead. "Whatever I feel, everyone around me feels too."  
  
"You mean, what I felt was what you were feeling? I've never felt anything like that before." He was quiet for a minute. "So how did I end up unconscious? More empathy?"  
  
"Something like that," she replied. "You've heard the expression 'wall of sound'? This was more like a wall of fear."  
  
"That's some powerful fear," he said. "By the way, I'm Logan."  
  
"Caitlin," she replied.  
  
"I didn't come here to hurt you, Caitlin," he said. "I'm looking for something."  
  
"In the middle of a snowstorm?"  
  
"I didn't feel like waiting," he shrugged.  
  
"Do you mind if I get some aspirin," she asked. "My head is splitting."  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
She climbed unsteadily to her feet, watching his graceful rise with a twinge of jealousy. She went and retrieved her lantern, turning up the wick to light the entire galley, then fished out some more aspirin and a bottle of Irish Mist from the cupboard while Logan looked around the room. She swallowed four more pills with liquor straight from the bottle, Logan watching with raised eyebrows.  
  
"Want some?" she offered, holding the bottle out to him. He took it with a grin, taking a few swigs while he looked around.  
  
"You live here?"  
  
"Yes," she replied.  
  
"Alone?"  
  
"Yes." She looked away, and for a moment he felt a loneliness so strong he nearly cried out. Then it vanished abruptly, and she grimaced. "Sorry. Like I said, I can't always control it."  
  
"That's why you're out here," he guessed. "So you don't hurt anyone."  
  
"And so no one hurts me," she replied. "I receive as well as project." She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and took another few swallows from the bottle. Logan looked at her with concern.  
  
"Take it easy on that," he warned. "You're gonna get drunk."  
  
"Good," she replied. "I don't feel anything while I'm drunk."  
  
"You shouldn't get drunk with a stranger," he said. "You don't even know me."  
  
"You won't hurt me," she replied.  
  
"How do you know," he asked.  
  
"I felt it," she explained. "When you said you didn't come here to hurt me. I felt that you meant it."  
  
"Are you poking around in my head," he asked, beginning to get mad at the thought.  
  
"I can't do that," she said. "People are always projecting their emotions, tossing them out for anyone to pick up. It's more like overhearing someone talking. That's why its impossible for me to live in town. Imagine everyone shouting all around you, and you can't block it out, 24 hours a day. I nearly went mad."  
  
"That sucks," he said succinctly, then took another pull at the bottle. He handed it back and she finished the last few swallows.  
  
"So why did you come here," she asked.  
  
"I'm looking for my past," he replied.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Fifteen years ago someone did experiments on me, but I can't remember them, or anything about my life before that. I'm looking for answers."  
  
"It will be easier to look for them tomorrow, after the storm passes," she suggested, her words starting to slur just slightly. "I'll show you around if you want. I've explored most of this place. But there isn't much left to see."  
  
"Alright," he agreed. "I could use some rest."  
  
"I could too. But I could use another drink more." She pushed to her feet with the aid of the table and went to pull another bottle out of the cupboard, rum this time. "I'm only fuzzy around the edges," she said as she came back and sat down. "I want to be completely fuzzy."  
  
"Why?" He took another pull from the bottle she offered, then handed it back.  
  
"I don't want to feel you all night," she said simply. Even though he understood what she meant he got an image of them in an intimate position in his head, and it wouldn't go away. He decided he'd better quit drinking now. Then he caught her eyeing him.  
  
"You didn't just pick anything up from me, did you," he asked, starting to blush slightly.  
  
"Yup," she replied. "And if I were the slightest bit less drunk, I'd take you up on it." She grinned. "But I bet I'm asleep in less than five minutes."  
  
"Then we should get you to bed," Logan replied. He pried the bottle out of her hand and picked her up in his arms. She sighed and snuggled close, laying her head against his strong shoulder as he carried her across the room to her bed. As he put her down, she hung on to his shirt.  
  
"Stay," she whispered.  
  
"I, ah, shouldn't" he replied, feeling awkward.  
  
"I don't have any other blankets.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"It's been a long time since someone held me," she said wistfully, sounding like a child. He hesitated a few more moments, then stripped off his coat and shoes and slid under the covers with her. She moved into the circle of his arms with a sigh, and was quickly asleep. It took him considerably longer to fall asleep, but when he did it was without the nightmares that had tormented him for so many nights. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to those of you who posted reviews to my first chapter. It's for you three that I am posting this next bit. I'm still not entirely sure where Logan and Caitlin are taking me, I guess we'll find out. If any of you are into Witchblade, please check out my stories in that category, I have several. Please review and let me know if you like this enough for me to keep going with it.  
  
Logan awoke the following morning after the most refreshing night's sleep he had had in years. No nightmares, no waking up in terror with sweat chilling on his forehead. He looked down at the young woman sleeping in the circle of his arms and smiled slightly. She stirred and opened her eyes, returned his smile with a bright one of her own, and he felt a contentment he knew was coming from her. She stretched and rolled over to face him better.  
  
"Did you sleep well," she asked.  
  
"Better than I have in years," he replied. She smiled at him for a moment, then started laughing. He looked at her, confused. "What?" he asked.  
  
"I've never had a guest before," she said. "And here I am making small talk with a complete stranger after waking up in your arms. It strikes me as absurd."  
  
"I'm not a complete stranger," Logan reminded her with a grin. "I introduced myself."  
  
"True enough," she conceded. "Hungry?" She slipped out of bed and padded barefoot into the galley. He followed, watching her pull potatoes, garlic, green onions, and cheese out of a cooler.  
  
"You have any bacon," he asked.  
  
"Sorry," she replied as she peeled and shredded the potatoes. "No meat."  
  
"You a vegetarian," he asked.  
  
"No," she replied. "It's just that I have no really good way to keep meat up here, without power. If I put it outside it would freeze and keep a long time, but it would also attract predators. My cooler is a bit unreliable when it comes to meat."  
  
"Oh," he said, her situation finally hitting home. He didn't know how she could live like this day after day. He watched her light the propane stove and melt butter in a skillet before throwing in the potatoes. As he helped her dice the garlic and onions and shred the cheese, he wondered if the Professor could help her.  
  
After they ate and cleaned up, Caitlin showed him around the base. As she had warned him, it was pretty much stripped. A few flashes of memory stirred in one or two rooms, but nothing he could grasp or identify. He was frustrated and ill-tempered by the end of the afternoon. Determined not to take it out on Caitlin, who had been nothing but nice to him, he took off into the woods for a little hunting. He spent several hours out in the forest, running himself out of his bad mood and scaring up three rabbits and a couple of quail. After cleaning his game by a stream he headed back to the base, slipping in the door as quietly as possible. He was curious to see what Caitlin had been doing while he was gone.  
  
Padding softly across the floor, he peeked in around the door to the galley. He found her sitting at the table, a glass of water at her elbow while she typed away on a laptop computer, a stack of batteries behind it. She was very intent on whatever she was doing, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Logan was congratulating himself on sneaking up on her when spoke without pausing her typing or raising her eyes from the screen.  
  
"Give me a few minutes, and I'll be done for the day," she said. He stared for a moment, jaw hanging, then remembered she was an empath. She had probably sensed him coming long before he got in the door. Grinning and shaking his head, he came into the kitchen and started fixing dinner. After a few more minutes Caitlin sighed, stretched, and closed her laptop. She ejected a floppy disk from the side and slipped it carefully into a plastic case. After both computer and disk were safely tucked back in a cupboard, she came over to see what he was doing.  
  
"Mmm," she sighed. "Smells good."  
  
"Thanks," Logan replied. He tossed garlic into the skillet with the diced meat and potatoes. "I'm not much of a cook," he warned.  
  
"Neither am I," she said. "Where did you get the meat?"  
  
"Caught it," he replied.  
  
"Cool," she said.  
  
"What were you doing there," he asked.  
  
"On the computer?" she said. "Oh, working. I write novels."  
  
"Really?" he said, surprised. "Ever been published?"  
  
"Of course," she replied. "How do you think I afford these luxurious accommodations?" She grinned.  
  
"So, what do you write about," he prodded.  
  
"I write mysteries," Caitlin confessed. "The ones about the woman who is an empathy and ends up getting sucked into all these weird cases while doing investigative reporting for her city newspaper."  
  
"That's you?" Logan was stunned. "I've read one of those."  
  
"You have?" her turn to be stunned. "What did you think?"  
  
"I thought it was good," he replied.  
  
"Not really your thing, though," she guessed.  
  
"Well, not really," he admitted. "But I liked it enough to remember it."  
  
"Which one did you read?"  
  
"The one with the guy who could turn into a cat."  
  
"One of my earlier ones," she said with a sigh. "I got better at it."  
  
"Is the money good, being a best-selling author?"  
  
"Not good enough for me to be able to get a house far enough from town that people would leave me alone." Caitlin said. "People were always coming to my apartment, wanting to meet the author and have their books signed. I couldn't get anything done because of the headaches. Here no one knows where I am. I get left alone. I can write in peace. And everyone chalks it up to the usual weirdness people expect from writers and artists."  
  
"Convenient," he said.  
  
"In some ways," she admitted. "But I really do miss being able to be around people sometimes. And it's a real pain in the ass having to haul my supplies all the way up here."  
  
"I know someone who may be ale to help you," Logan found himself saying. "Interested?"  
  
"Yes, very," she replied. "Who?"  
  
"Have you ever heard of Professor Charles Xavier," Logan asked.  
  
"Certainly," she said. "Why, you know him?"  
  
"Yes, I do." Logan grinned. "And if anyone could help you he could. He's got a school for mutants in Westchester. When I go back, why don't you come with me?"  
  
"Oh, Logan," she said, getting excited, but still a bit wary. "Are you sure? I don't want to impose on the Professor, or you."  
  
"Trust me," he said with a grin, and she smiled back.  
  
"Thank you, Logan," she said happily. "I'd love to go with you and meet the Professor."  
  
"Great," he said. "We can leave as soon as you're packed."  
  
"Shouldn't take me long," she replied thoughtfully, going over her possessions in her mind. "All I really have of value is the laptop. Other than that, a few changes of clothing, no more than a single bag, surely. I'd have to stop in town and let them know at the post office that I won't be in to pick up my mail for a while. Everything else will either be here or not when I return. If I return."  
  
"Good," Logan said, setting two plates of food on the table. "We'll get started early tomorrow then. I've seen all there is to see here."  
  
After dinner they played poker for match sticks. Caitlin gave him free run of her liquor cabinet, but didn't touch any of it herself. He thoroughly trounced her at five card draw and blackjack, but she had a wonderful time. She didn't care that she lost, it was enough for her to be playing at all with another person. She really missed the social contact. She hoped Logan was right and the Professor could help her. He had something of a reputation as an expert on the mind as well as other branches of knowledge.  
  
When she was yawning frequently Logan called a halt to the game and put the cards away. She changed into a long shirt she used for a nightgown and Logan stripped to undershirt and underwear. They settled together under the covers, Caitlin encircled by Logan's strong arms like the night before, and slipped into peaceful sleep together. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:  Sorry it took me so long to get back to this.  I've been concentrating on my Witchblade story (when I can concentrate).  I hope you all like this chapter.  Please let me know what you think.  Thanks to those of you who have reviewed so far.  Anyone interested can find all my stories (in chronological order) at my personal web page Page.htm  Please be patient, it seems Angelfire is having trouble recently, and my pages don't always come up, or come up very slowly.

**Chapter 3**

Caitlin took one last look around before closing the door to the only home she had known for the last eight years.  Her laptop was stowed safely in its padded case, and her clothes and few personal items were in a duffel slung over one shoulder.  She looked over at Logan with a lopsided smile where he waited by his motorcycle, took a deep breath, and joined him.

"The laptop will fit in a saddlebag," she said uncertainly, "but what about my duffel?  How do we fit that on your bike?"

"You'll have to carry it over your shoulder for a bit," Logan said, smiling at her grimace.  "Don't worry.  We won't be going very fast, or very far."

"I don't understand," Caitlin said, sensing his humor and anticipation.  He had a surprise he wasn't sharing, she guessed.  "New York is an awful long way from here."

"We'll be meeting some friends on the other side of town," he said.  "They'll be giving us a lift.  Come on, we have to get going if you're going to have time to stop in town."

He climbed on the bike and she climbed on right after, her duffel slung across her back with the strap across her chest from left shoulder to right hip.  She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on as he eased the bike down the snowy trail that led back to the road.  When they hit the road Logan sped up a bit, but his driving was still very cautious.  Caitlin enjoyed the scenery as they drove, wondering if she would ever see this place again.  About twenty minutes later they pulled into town and Logan stopped in front of the Post Office.  Caitlin slipped off the bike, swung her duffel off her shoulder, and smiled at Logan.

"I'll only be a minute," she said.  He nodded.

"Take your time," he replied.

Caitlin took a deep breath and tried to adjust to the flow of emotions around her, to block out what she could.  Stepping inside, Caitlin managed to catch the attention of the elderly man behind the counter.  He waved at her to wait for a minute while he finished stuffing mail into the private boxes behind the counter, then pulled her mail out from her box and came out from behind the counter to give her a hug.

"Well, well, Caitlin," he said.   "You were just here two days ago.  I didn't expect to see you for another five days at least."  He handed her the two letters in his hand.  "Here's your mail."

"Thanks, Mr. Kendall," Caitlin said.  "I'm going away for a while, and I need you to hold my mail until I have somewhere for you to forward it to."

"Another book tour," he asked, a twinkle in his eye.  Most people around here knew she was a writer.  She smiled and shook her head.

"Not this time," she replied.  "I'm going to see a man about my little problem."

"You mean your, uh, headaches," he asked, giving her a significant look.  He was one of the very few who knew about her empathic powers.

"Yes.  There's a Professor in New York that may be able to help me.  I'm leaving now."

"You think you'll ever be back," he asked, his eyes sad.

"I don't know.  It depends a lot on whether this Professor Xavier can help me or not."  She smiled at him.  "But I promise to write.  It's not like I don't have the address here memorized."

"You better, young lady," he said sternly.  "Don't forget to go by the bank, then, and get some traveler's checks.  Safer than cash, you know."

"Oh, shoot!  I completely forgot about the bank."  She was dismayed.  "I better get going. I'm not sure how much time I have.  Take care of yourself, Mr. Kendall," she said, giving him a quick but sincere hug, then dashed out the door back to where Logan waited.

"Get everything taken care of," he asked.

"Do we have time to hit the bank," she asked.  "I don't have any money."

"We should have time," he said.  "Where's the bank?"

"About a block down," she told him, pointing.  He started the bike and she slipped her bag back over her shoulder and climbed on behind him.  "It shouldn't take me long," she said as he carefully drove down the street.  "I'm not closing the account or anything.  I just want to get some traveler's checks."

"Get them in American money," he advised.  "We probably won't be making any more stops here in Canada."

He stopped in front of the bank, and Caitlin quickly dashed in, took care of her withdrawal, and dashed back out.  She stowed the money in an inside pocket of her jacket, then settled behind Logan again.  As soon as he was sure she was secure he took off out the other side of town.  They rode for another twenty minutes, then Logan pulled off the main road onto a forest service road.  They went through some trees, then the road opened up onto a large clearing.  Logan stopped the bike and killed the engine.  Caitlin could sense his smugness and anticipation as he swung off the bike and helped her with her things.  She stopped dead when she finally got a good look at the clearing, staring, her jaw hanging.

"There's our ride," Logan said, waving his hand at the X-Jet with a big grin, his smugness an almost physical thing now.  She couldn't stop staring.

The ramp came down, and a young man with red sunglasses and a black uniform of some kind came out of the jet.  He was followed by a woman with red hair in a similar uniform.  She felt Logan's emotions stir in response to the woman's appearance, and guessed she was the source of his earlier anticipation.  Logan was quite taken with her, but it was obvious she didn't return his affection.  It was equally obvious the young man was aware of Logan's feelings and resented them, but there was also respect there.  Caitlin took a minute to gather herself, trying to sort out this small group's dynamics, hanging back as Logan strode forward to greet the pair.

"You take good care of my bike, Logan," the young man asked.

"Of course not," Logan replied, though it was obvious the bike was in perfect condition.

"Introduce us to your friend, Logan," the woman prompted.

"Oh, sorry," he muttered, a bit embarrassed.  He turned to Caitlin, who stepped up beside him at this point.  "Caitlin, this is Scott and Jean."

"Nice to meet you," Caitlin said, shaking hands with each of them.  Scott took her duffel for her.

"Let's get everything onto the jet," Scott said.  "We need to get going."

Jean showed Caitlin where to stow her laptop and helped her get strapped in for the trip while Logan and Scott took care of securing the bike.  Soon they were all aboard and Scott was maneuvering the jet over the treetops and heading south.  Caitlin was nervous, having never flown before.  She had always rented a car or taken a bus on her book tours.  The idea of being trapped on an airplane with a bunch of people and their emotions for hours at a time made her slightly nauseous.  She must have been projecting because Jean, who was sitting next to her behind the men, looked at her strangely.  She took a deep breath and tried to center herself.

"Sorry," she said to Jean.  "I didn't realize I was leaking."

"You're an empath," Jean asked.  Caitlin nodded.

"I have precious little control though," she said.  "I hope the Professor can help me."

"I'm sure he can," Jean said.  "He's very good with mutant powers."

"If he can just teach me to shield, I'd be eternally grateful," she said, some of her desperation evident in her tone.  "I am so tired of having to hide away from people all the time."

"How much do you know about shields," Jean asked.

"There's a lot of speculation on what they are and what they do, especially in science fiction.  Unfortunately, noone has ever published a definitive how-to manual on them.  I've been stumbling around in the dark with no idea where to start."

"Well, if you like I can try to show you," Jean said.  "I'm a telepath, as well as telekinetic."

Caitlin looked at her for a few minutes, reading her as best she could, but could sense nothing other than friendliness and an honest desire to help.  She took a deep breath and nodded.

"What do I have to do?"

"Close your eyes," Jean said.  "Try to relax.  It may startle you when I touch your mind the first time."

Caitlin did as Jean instructed, and tried not to jump when she felt something that was not quite a touch in her mind.  She took another deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to let her fear and tension drain out with it.  Slowly in her mind's eye an image formed.  She recognized it as Jean, and as soon as she did the image solidified abruptly.  Jean smiled at her.

"Good.  Now imagine somewhere where you feel safe, a room where noone can get at you," Jean prompted.  Caitlin imagined the barracks room she had made her own, and the shadowy form of that room began to take shape around her.  As soon as she realized what was happening her mind filled in the details swiftly.  In seconds Caitlin and Jean stood together in the center of the room.  Caitlin looked around and found everything in order, down to the last wrinkle in her covers.  The door to outside was open.

"Now comes the hard part," Jean said.  "You have to separate your emotions and thoughts from all others, and learn how to keep yours inside this room, and everyone else's outside.  When you know which thoughts and emotions are yours, and you've pushed all the ones that don't belong to you out the door, you can shut the door and keep yours in and theirs out."

"How do I do that," she asked.

"That's why it's so hard," Jean answered.  "You have to figure that part out.  Try giving the thoughts and emotions forms or colors, or making them look like boxes or packages.  Sort through them one at a time, until you have them all figured out.  After a while you'll learn to know automatically what belongs to you and what doesn't.  Whatever doesn't, push out the door.  Just remember, this is your room, and you can do anything you want here.  Noone is stronger, faster, smarter, or better than you are here, and you don't even have to play by the laws of physics if you don't want to.  It's like your dreams."

"What do I do when I want to read someone's emotions," Caitlin asked.

"Imagine yourself opening the door and standing in the doorway," Jean said.  "After a while it gets to be automatic, and you'll be able to do it instantly.  It just takes practice and time."

"Thank you, Jean," Caitlin said, letting the other woman feel her gratitude.

"You're welcome," Jean said, smiling.  "I'm going to leave you sorting out things here.  I'll wake you up when we get to Westchester."

"Wake me up?"

"You're not really sleeping," Jean said, walking towards the door.  "You're meditating."

"Cool," Caitlin said.  Jean smiled and walked out the door, shutting it behind her.  Caitlin stood quietly for a moment, then looked around the room.  She decided to picture emotions like ghostly blurs of color, and all of a sudden there were dozens of swirling filmy colored shapes around her.  She experimented a bit and found she could control her own emotions, making them settle one by one over on the far side of the room.  She discovered the stronger the emotion the brighter the color.  She also found that many of the emotions weren't hers.  She noticed one of her own clouds darkening, and realized the ugly brown cloud was her fear.  She ignored it as best she could and concentrated on sorting out the emotions coming from the others in the jet, gently shooing those ghostly clouds out of the room.  She was still sorting through everything when she suddenly awoke to find Jean shaking her shoulder gently.

"We're almost there," she said.

"How long have I been out," Caitlin asked, noticing it was dark outside.

"A few hours.  Those are the grounds below us," Jean pointed out.  As the jet slowly descended a circular section of the ground opened up and revealed an underground chamber.  As the jet sank underground and Scott finally cut the engines, Caitlin wondered what Professor Xavier would be like, and if she would be welcome here.  Scott, Jean, and Logan were all very nice to her, and genuinely seemed to want to help her, but the Professor was in charge, and he was a complete mystery to her.  She unhooked her safety belts and gathered up her things, following the others out of the jet and into the mansion, wondering what she would find.


End file.
